Darkschunt

I’m just writing this while I’m chained to my desk today waiting for phone calls and trying to call people every fifteen minutes for interviews and will be posting this when I finally entangle myself from the phone cord which I am trying to hang myself from at this moment. Really, this reporter business can really suck sometimes. Yes, it’s pretty fun that you get to talk to different people and it’s really cute how both guys that I talk to today laugh in that shy, embarrassed, pleased kind of way when I ask them for their pictures – like, oh my God! You’re actually happy and embarrassed at the same time. That is SO sweet. It’s just so damn sweet that I actually hope that my stories get run in the paper so they can actually get their pictures in there. Even though that is highly doubtful. And even though I haven’t seen how they look like yet, and everyone who knows me know how highly aversive of ugly people I can be. And YES I have looked in the mirror!!!!!!!!!!
Speaking of ugly and beautiful, anyone saw Linda Evangelista (wow, her last name is actually in my computer spell-check. Now how freaky is that? And even freakier, how could I forget the spelling of a supermodel name, me the queen of know-it-all of all nineties supermodels?) in Sydney modeling clothes? Like, she actually looked happy wearing that puffy-sleeved shepherdess-like outfit. Now that’s what I call pure model class – being able to actually look poised and happy while wearing something like that.
But back to the reporter business. I find that I am actually HARASSING people for interviews. (In that nice, pleasant, courteous manner which they teach us all in journalism class). Yes, I actually FORCED myself out of bed at the unearthly hour of nine thirty in the morning today so I could stumble over to the phone on my desk and go harass people and I am not going to stop this harassing until five o’clock when they all finally stop work, or at least until I get all my interviews. I am living a nine-to-five payless job at my desk in my room. Now I don’t like harassing people. If I feel I’m bothering someone, I’d rather step away then be a pain in the arse. (At least, whenever I’m sober). But right now I AM sober and I am DESPERATE and I have a deadline at five o’clock on Monday and so I apologize to all the good people at WA’s Environment and Agriculture Departments but I have all these damn assignments and I can’t afford to fail my classes.
(That is, unless somebody bites me in the neck while I’m walking through the dark woods back home from uni like he promises to! Bitch! Where are you?)
Journalism. Bah. I only wanted to be a starving drunken poet in the gutter.
And you know what makes it worse? That I have TWO boxes of chocolates sitting in my room at the same time and since I can’t go anywhere and I have nothing else to do between phone calls (I can’t concentrate on anything else because I am just so worried about deadlines and stuff) that I end up stuffing myself with chocolates instead! They’re for a fundraiser so I just pop a couple of bucks in the bag and end up stuffing myself with all these things that are bad for you and that gives you pimples and goes right to your stomach and that you don’t even feel like eating but eat anyway because you are bored. No, you have to stop it!!! Bad girl! Bad girl! BAD GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!
And this fundraiser thing? Oh, yes, did I mention that it’s for a magazine which I am also working a payless job for? Oh, yes. Journalism is trying to wreck my life.
But other than that, it’s pretty okay, really. I mean, you get to meet people. You get to write. (Even if it’s often about stuff you don’t want to write about). And hey, it’s an experience in suffering, right? I’ll laugh at this years later when I’m sitting on top of my tombstone.
Bah. Why can’t I just be a socialite heiress and throw champagne parties and get high and have boytoys?